3. The Eastlander War

The Eastlander War


  • A blink and there is war. Blink and it's gone. Another war comes rolling around. Now it is my war. Now it is my city. Now I will fight for it.

    People same. Blind to all except the most obvious. Uncaring of Why. Why does Rass fight with Atol. Why does Rass burn the hospital tents? She chooses to. To watch us run like ants to the stream for water. Others will deal with her. The man is easier to kill. We can get inside and then cut their heart out.

    Other plan prevails. Usual catapult bombardment. Plan to secure caves, then bring engineers. Expect traps, heavy resistance. Raryldor is here. It will not be enough for him that I fight for the city. It will never be enough. Sometimes they're not dead when I reach them. Can watch the eyes as they fade. Different every time. Beautiful.

    Found Eastlander. Alive. Surrenders. Her eyes are blue. Calls us murderers. Eowiel wants information, I give it to her. It is never enough for Raryldor or Kara. Must be more careful. More guarded around them. The woman's eye would heal. They are too sensitive to pain. They don't understand what they do when they cut and stab and rip people apart. There is no difference. They should learn committment. The City would watch a thousand Eastlanders slain to prevent this war. Why is the one I hurt unacceptable.

    Maybe she is not strong enough to be Senator. Zyphlin understands. He knows how to use people. He knows that the goal is paramount. If the path leads there. It is a good path.

    Have another prisoner. Garrick. Chief. Important. Call him sir, while watching fingers twist in bonds. Should hurt him. Drag him to jail unconscious. They watch. Care, caution. Ask them to help disable him. They let him go. They still can't see the Truth. They let the murderer, torturer, thief and enemy of Jiyyd, the Legion and Peltarch go because they didn't want to carry his unconscious body.

    Fools. Darkness will take us all.


  • Tala awoke to the sounds of battle in the nars. Creeping from her snug little home like a ghost wolf from its den she headed first to jiyyd. Collecting bandages and balms from vroka she ghosted her way northward passing unseen by the sentries posted. they should have people with keener eyes and ears on these posts she thought. Stopping at the hospital to drop off her supplies she scouted out Dwin, Krig, Rugg and Arandor. Upon hearing the plan for the kegs she again does what she does best and melted into the trees. A long slow walk later she returned with three kegs. From then on it was just running to get more supplies for the hospital.


  • Twenty-Four Years.

    For twenty-four years now, I have served Gond. Taken from my family and my home when I was ten. Introduced into the priesthood, and sent off to strange Order. The Order of the Hammer took me in as Initiate, and when I had come to age, as Acolyte. Finally reaching the rank of Disciple, a full and thought member of the Order, a warrior of Gond, I had set out across many nations and battlefields in His name. To bring the specific teachings of the Order to warzones, and represent the Hammer in those places.
    Twenty-Four Years of battle, fire, death, blood, pain and loss. Too many times I have seen fellow soldiers turned friends fall, and every time again I am reminded of my own mortality. The young drummer was no different. Eager and excited to march off to almost certain death. All for the glory of his city. And here I was, marching alongside him as orders were given.
    For twenty-four years I had fought and suffered and killed for cities that weren't my own, defending people that were not my family. I fought for the glory of the Order and the glory of Gond, yet not for myself. I have no family nor friends to count. Fellow soldiers and travellers at most, I do not wish to lose more friends.

    It would have been a battle as I have seen so many. And with trial and effort, the tide had been turned. The main road of the Pass now almost cleared, we returned to the main forces, hoping to aid them as they held the endless numbers of bandits at bay. Another encounter, another charge. But something went wrong this time.
    I felt myself freezing as I closed with one of the bandits… A holding spell, of course.. how could I have been so careless? I could see the battle raging on around me until a sharp pain entered my back. The spell wore off just that moment, and I could see the tip of a sword coming out the front of my armor. There was no pain. There was only the realisation that this would likely be my moment. That my duty in this world would be concluded, and that I would now join Gond.

    Strength left me, and I collapsed. Darkness set in, and the screams of those around me faded away, finally obscuring everything.
    It would be a good death.

  • N

    She looked over the new arrival’s quickly, assessing as fast as her tired brain could still manage. “That one bed twelve, he’ll be lucky to make it through the night. Those two in beds two and three. THEO CLEAR BED SIX! Put the Captain in bed six once Tiggles has put clean sheets on it and see if Shannon is still around I might need him on the one for bed twelve. Not giving up on him until I must.”

    Grabbing a clean cloth from a stack by the boiling pot she wiped her hands and face clean of blood and headed over to bed twelve. She eyed the mess that used to be a soldier in the Defenders and with a deep inhalation set to work. Was it six or was it seven? Seven she thought.. seven days since she’d slept now. Hard to keep track. Her training at the Temple stood her in good stead, and she rarely slept more than two nights in seven as it was, but no nights in seven and under continual pressure to save lives was beginning to tell even on her stamina. It helped that no more dead had been brought in for a while. Temple? There was something about the Temple she needed to remember.. Oh yes, had to go and destroy it. Not now though lives to save, widows to prevent, orphans to remain parented. She bound off the mans upper arm on the left. All that was left of the arm and the wound mostly cauterised by the flaming pitch the eastlanders were hurling. Then on to the chest wound. Didn’t take much to spread the ribs, Selune’s strength flowed through her veins at the moment, she’d had to. She’d been saving her power for healing but her still moving and healing mundanely was better than her collapsing in a corner and saving no-one.

    Tiggle’s watched her sister and worried. She’d tried already to get her to sleep and a steady supply of candy was keeping Nyda’s sugar levels up at least.

    Shannon arrived just in time. He was almost as skilled at Nyda with his hands and more skilled with his magical healing, without him she’d have lost a lot more than she had. Together they stabilized the man, a miracle in itself but if the region had better trained healers than Nyda and Shannon, she had yet to meet them.

    When would this insanity stop? Not the war, the war made sense. People had been dying before the war started to Eastlander aggression, you answered aggression with violence or the aggressors never stopped. With a roar a catapult volley landed perilously close to the hospital, a piece of hot shrapnel slicing through the makeshift canvas wall they’d set up to try and stop such fragments and cut a slice through Nyda’s forearm as she turned to move on to the next bed. She paused, sleep biting at her mind and vision as she watched the wound knit and close itself to leave flawless skin once more. Shaking her head she turned to the next wounded man, not so.. lucky she supposed.. if you could call her earlier life lucky in any way. He would scar. She hoped his wife, lover, girlfriend or whoever thought it dashing and not marring.
    The insanity was the continued assault on totally defended positions. She hated to think ill of the commanders. Especially Grag, since he was her own commander. But they had to come a point, a number of lost men, wounded and a number of exhausted priests and healers beyond which it became obvious that the Eastlanders were dug in too strongly and a new plan was needed.

    She stumbled to the next bed trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Then she shook her head, finally realizing what she was looking at. Halfway through stripping the bed Nyda had last asked her too the young hin lass had simply fallen asleep half wrapped in sheets too big for her to really easily fold. “Very wise Tiggles. More sense than I have.. but I’ll sleep soon. It can’t be that long until the next lot of dead come in.. and for them I have to.” She fingered the pouch at her waist, her dwindling supply of diamonds. She’d stopped raising everyone she could some days ago. Supplies were stretched thin and she was stretched thinner. Soldiers died in war and she couldn’t bring them all back. A lot didn’t even want to, the glory of a death saving their families and home reason enough to go on to better places with patron gods.
    With a sigh she turned, more injured arriving and with them a women, looking devastated and following Drelan who had Pete’s body in his arms. “Oh hells..” Nyda muttered, her usual aversion to all swearing had slipped greatly in the face of such pointless bloodshed. She’d be her usual prim self eventually, but war changes everyone even the near unchangeable. Sorting the injured quickly she looked to Shannon, Theo and Brom. “Can you manage a few hours?.. this one I have to raise.”
    They nodded and Nyda turned to Lyte “Give me a few hours and I’ll have him up again.. I’m so sorry General”

    She staggered, almost fell as she moved off to the tent the healers were using to sleep in shifts.. well.. the other healers. She didn’t manage to undress, collapsing over the cot and asleep almost before she hit it. With the sound of another keg going off against the eastlander defences a single thought passed through her mind before she past into the darkness of sleep. The first casualty of war isn’t innocence.. it’s sanity.

    ((With special thanks to far too many episodes of ER and one specific episode of MAS*H 🙂 ))

  • Peltarch Far Scouts

    The moon hung high in the sky, and its cold light pierced the damp air only with effort. Such light that remained cast soft shadows whose gentle forms ebbed and flowed in and around each other, rendering forms indistinguishable. In the southern sky, another salvo of artillery fire arced high over the stillness, lingering idly for a moment before gathering their senses and plunging down out of sight.

    Gaius paused and smiled at the flaming sprites that soared this way and that ahead of him. It was, he thought, one of the gods’ great jests that such horror and such beauty could be produced simultaneously – and even more that while mere seconds later those fiery munitions would rain down like Death’s hammer upon his friends and comrades, he could stand here and think them pretty.

    Under the burden of such philosophical ponderings, Gaius sat on the frosted grass, sliding his pack off one shoulder and letting it land with a thump next to him. He quickly regretted doing this, as his pack was worn through in a few spots and the seams were fairly weak, but after inspection it seemed the old thing was still intact. Looking up, Gaius gathered his surroundings.

    He sat about 10 feet from the edge of a dense wood, though just how thick even his Elven eyes couldn’t tell in the dance of shadow and silky moonlight that played ever on around him. In front of him, about 50 yards over a field of tall grass, he knew lay the well-worn road south from Peltarch; at the moment, his only reminder that it even existed was an occasional glint passed on by the road-sign’s metal rivets. For, in this darkness, 50 yards may as well have been 50 miles.

    Gaius, feeling somewhat uncomfortable, dragged his pack closer to the tree-line and began to gather firewood. Wood was to be had in abundance, as a recent storm had lain many assorted branches on the ground, and a few intervening days had dried them.

    The thin layer of frost on each piece melted on contact; the water ran off his hand to freeze again on the unforgiving ground. After delicately arranging a few first twigs, Gaius saved himself the trouble of gathering tinder and extracted a small flask of oil from his pack’s outer pockets. He admitted to himself that he was somewhat thankful his carelessness hadn’t crushed it, but even so applied it liberally to ensure a speedily started blaze. It was, after all, somewhat cold, and the need to pack light had precluded the possibility of taking his heavier fur cloak.

    The fire erupted with all the speed Gaius had hoped for, and, opting not to waste any time that he could spend on the move, he lay his bedroll upon the cold ground not far from the fire, pulled the light blanket over himself, and let sleep come. Come it did.

    To Be Continued…

  • E

    Decoy

    Something hit hard, sending flames everywhere, Drelan diving into the trees as he was finally seperated from the "decoy" group. Yes trees, would burn, but that was fire, having a rock or the actual bucket containing the flamable picture slammed into your head was another story. He stepped out of the small group of trees that were beginning to catch flame and looked to his right to see Dwin shaking his arse in taunt to those enemies on the cliffside. He didn't know where Krig and Shannon were, nor Anakore who was the whole reason for risking the flames, but he saw another fire erupt by the gate not long after, meaning in his mind they were failing their job. Anakore had to be given free access to the catapults. He looked to the nearby cliffside, he could reach it, but there wouldn't be anywhere to run. Drelan remembered seeing Cike and his party standing there. Drelan retreated to the fortifications to recieve his orders, and not long after the bodies from that very group were hauled in. He looked again, hoping the Lady of the Lanceboard would take pity on his wayward ways and provide him the insight needed, nothing came. There was only one thing to do, see if the rest of the decoy party died, him being left to probable certain death as the bandits filled the small valley with fire always following the attacking groups, or attempt to distract. The slight sheen of the black and gold armor was seen later rushing up upon the cliff that had brought death to others. Drelan prayed no one would follow him, he knew if the decoy party lived they'd see him, but there was no need for many upon the cliff, and would only lower the chances of survival. He reached the top and saw the catapult that he could not reach, and many many archers. At first they didn't notice him, but an arrow through one of their necks soon solved that. He only hoped enough would take heed to give Anakore his chance.

    And then he saw it, the gleam of grey and white armor as Krig and Rary ran in his direction.

  • A

    The march through the pass was cold, a sense of foreboding seemed to linger in the air, a relatively small group travelled from the Jewel of the Icelace, their business was death. Along the road there was little resistance, though likely that was due to the company of Defenders who had set out just before hand.. only three Defenders were with them now, Shannon being most notable, a second who's name Lilly hadn't really learned, and the third being an excitable young drummer eager for his first war.

    "We're going to kill Atol!" he cried whenever someone would mention what the plan was, "We're going to kill Rass!" he's say a few moments later, a collective groan escaping the lips of the more seasoned among them.

    Hearing him speak thus, Lilly sighed all the harder, it was for people like him who she was marching off to battle for. Someone in over their heads, perhaps he knew how to swing a sword, perhaps he had even killed.. but had he ever truly seen battle? Thoughts of the Civil War flitted through her head, prepared to fight and die for a cause.. and when the battles in the streets came she did both, nearly wetting herself with fear at each instance.

    The group neared the bridge, Luke the excitably young battledrummer announcing their presence nearly the entire time with his drumming and boastful singing of "Peltarch's marching to war!". A hush again lulled through the group, aside from Luke, as Aghila scouted ahead.

    Quiet minutes passed, the mood seeming almost oppresive as Lilly stood quietly, clad in the armor worn by so many heroes before her. Why she still wore it she didn't know, she'd never be as heroic as those women, it shamed her to even think the armor once worn by Lucia Longtooth, Rith Phoenixfeather, Loreene Wildwater, and finally Reri, was being wasted by someone like her. Her right hand burned as she held the scimitar Sy'wyn had let her borrow, a sword too fine for her and showing a trust she didn't know if she was worthy of. These thoughts didn't matter though, she wasn't going to war for glory or trust, simply for orphans and young people like Luke, who she prayed would live to go home and kiss his mother's cheek, telling her how horrible war truly is.

    "Thoughts, all thoughts," she chided herself, "never enough action to make them come true." the words spoken in her head, no need for the others to tease her. Mirkali stood nearby, he worried enough as it was, his comforting words being, "You know a sniper could kill you in three shots".

    It didn't matter, the future mattered, not hers necessarily, but for those who couldn't fight, or those who shouldn't be fighting. Aghila returned, telling that traps had been lined across the road, but that if the road were avoided then the traps would also be avoided. Archers lined the ridgeline, mages among them.. the fighting would be far from easy.

    They debated amongst themselves about how to go about it, the traps were too entrenched to be disabled, the threat of archers not allowing much time anyways, as well the Eastlanders controlled the high ground. No decision was truly reached, but a few of the most experienced among them, namely Sy'wyn went ahead to get the attention on them, the rest of us supposed to follow.

    Minutes passed, long terrible minutes that each one could have been an hour.. confusion reigned, "were we supposed to follow, or wait for their signal?" someone voiced.. more minutes passed, no signal..

    They returned, bloody and with shafts sticking from their armor.. and the entirety of the group prepared for the engagement, readying bowstrings and tightening armor. The moment came, and we rushed into the canyon, instantly spotting the traps marked by Aghila. A bit of chalk in the muddy patch, a line drawn in the snow, some arrows in a line, stretched across the road; more pressing were the lines of archers now openning fire upon the group.

    Lilly returned as she could, knocking and firing arrows ironically from a bow stolen from eastlanders. Maybe the archers ducked behind cover, or perhaps the ones in direct sight were dead, nonetheless she backed up across the road, careful of the traps, to open fire on more. Unfortunately, all that did was open herself to fire, both magical and arrows, from the opposite side of the canyon, forcing a rush under the first ridge.

    Bleeding and burning from the attacks, Lilly looked for a better position in which to shoot from, the battle too early for her to retreat or fall, too many young soldiers like Luke would die if she did, and then her course was clear before her as she looked deeper into the pass. For there battled Sy'wyn against stronger melee oriented opponents, alone and hard pressed. If he fell, then the group as a whole would suffer, if he fell then the bandits would have struck a mighty blow indeed, and if he fell then she would have betrayed the trust that allowed her to hold the blade in her hands.

    She ran, careful to avoid the traps marked, trusting Aghila's advice and keeping away from the road, thinking herself as using the same route Sy'wyn had.. as the electricity shot through her body, she knew Aghila had missed one, that Sy'wyn had not gone that route, that she had failed him, and that she had failed the soldiers and citizens in Peltarch.. then she knew no more.


  • An attack gone Horribly wrong

    Cike stood with his pack, The Wolves of Narfell; Ohtara, Cotton, and Philomena, as they joined Aghila (sp?) in an attempt to cripple the Eastlanders Catapults. They crept and ran past their flaming attacks hiding by the trees a breath before running up the Cliffside to the East of the flaming ruins of the bridge. The fire and smoke curled about the air as the screams of war encircled them.

    They walked to the edge spotting the opposite Cliffside filled with Eastlander Flameshots. The party loosed their arrows dropping three of them before they had to retreat from their Ballista attacks further south along the Cliffside. Reinforced with twice their number they waited for the foolish adventurers to try again. The pack licked their wounds healing what they could and discussed their options. Cike watched the north warily for any signs of more ballista shots.

    Returning with Belmar Aghila sadly reported he was unable to acquire healing potions for the group. Listing off their armaments and supplied with the magic’s of Belmar, the Adventurers were ready to try again. Cike slipped into the shadows with Ohtara and fell behind him clutching at his choking powder. Their hope was simple; disable the Eastlanders with an assortment of Magic, choking powder and arrows to end their bombardment of the defenders.

    Belmar attacked and then Ohtara struck out with the arrows given to him by Aghila that would burst a layer of grease on the Eastlanders. Hoping the grease would catch on fire they started to run as a hail of arrows fell upon them.

    It was clear they were outnumbered by Flameshots their men feverishly working to turn their catapults and Ballista’s at the small group. The party turned clutching at their wounds ready to retreat. Cike followed after Ohtara already severally wounded his armor riddled with arrow shafts.

    He was blinded as a catapult launched a flaming ball in front of him engulfing Ohtara. He heard his screams and started to run towards him when he heard a dull thud and a burning burst within his chest. The burning intensified and he fell to his knees all too familiar with the burning pain, the magical arrow eating away his lungs and heart.

    He felt the bubbling in his lungs his life blood dripping from the arrow tip. He coughed once spittle and blood mixing to dribble out of his mouth as he fell. His face slammed into the cold snow. He writhed in pain for only a second more, the snow doing nothing to cool the burning in his chest as everything started to go numb and dark. His last thoughts were of Lilin as the darkness took him, he cried out with his mind, “I’m sorry.”

    He woke writhing in pain the burst of fire in his chest a lingering memory but still causing him to claw at his naked chest. He looked around frantically the sounds of battle the cries of wounded and the screams of dieing about him. Bewildered his pack was returned to him as Lilin clutched at him through tear soaked eyes. It immediately came back to him the sounds of war and the chilling numbness in his body save for the burning in his chest. His head spun and before he knew it he was being lead by his Love away from the death, away from the battle, the crunching of snow slowly enveloping and covering the muffled sounds of war. The pain in his chest lingered though his body was fully healed. He coughed hacking and tearing remembering the blazing pain.

  • A

    _I thought I left Archendale to get away from this…. or at least that's part of the reason I left. I've seen a few of my friends back home fall to Sembian swords or arrows. Lucky enough I have survived the few skirmishes I've been in. But this... this was worse.

    I've known little about the Eastlanders since I came through Rawlinswood to Narfell. What little I've know is that they've tried their best to kill me when ever I'm on my way to Peltarch (assuming they spot me). That alone was enough to know which side of the fight I'd be on. But other than that.... This war came upon me like any other encounter with the Eastlanders....

    I was just trying to get to Peltarch.

    The shouting, the smoke, the screaming and wordless moans of agony, the stench..... the stench.

    At first I started to head back to Norwick, but my concience got the better of me. So I found myself tending to the wounded, or at least the wounded's bloody bandages, for what seemed like days. The endless routine of gathering snow into pots, setting them on the fire to melt, shoving bloody bandages into the boiling water, hanging the clean bandages, changing out the pot of water, and repeating everything again and again wore on my body. Hours blurred by as the sun set upon the battlefield. Though the night sky was not much darker thanks to the endless balls of fire raining down from the Eastlander's catapults.

    Men and women came in and out of the hospital. Most walking wounded.... some just wounded, and still others upon the shoulders of men still breathing (while those being carried were not). The ground beneath the triage site looked more like a red, cold carpet than hard packed snow. Blood was so thick that another man (Brom was it?) slipped and fell to the ground on more than one occasion.

    Soon enough, the fighting came dangerously close to overrunning my post. Oddly enough, I still find myself capable of remaining calm under such duress. But then again, training sticks with you, no matter how hard you try and forget it.

    Just as soon as the Eastlanders seemed to be ready to roll up our camp and call it a night, a rally mounted, pushing them well back from our camp. I continued cleaning bandages, talking to the wounded, and occasionally holding one down while Brom either sawed off his leg, arm, or whatever. More occasionally, I helped him haul off men who failed to recover from their wounds so new ones could have a chance to not fail and be hauled off in the same way.

    On a more amusing note, I do remember someone bringing in a body that was not of our side, but of the man who spurred the Eastlander's push into our camp. Lady Nyda, the one in charge, told me to burn the body. A thing I gladly did.

    I made a trip back to Peltarch, my ultimate destination, to procure provisions for the soldiers, since the mess area was devoid of any. Upon my arrival there I noticed the one thing that bugs the hell out of me most when it comes to war... well almost the one thing....

    Peltarch looked as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on outside of it's gates.

    Shortly after returning from Peltarch with the provisions procured via my own pocket (which I do not mind.... a new hunting bow will be had another day) I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I had to excuse myself from my duties to rest. But of course first I had to write this all down... which brings me to the present....

    Damn I'm tired, and I didn't even fight.

    The endless tiredness.... yet another of the myriad of things I hate most about war._

    -Thelonius Lockewood


  • In the thick of the battle, it seemed that time had stopped.

    Folks stood around, eyes wide, mouths gaping at the carnage…at the fire that consumed everything. At the relentless flames that flew threw he air like birds migrating for the winter.

    Dwin, too was lost in the moment when he felt a shove from behind. Tala stood there, out of breath, twigs and leaves in her hair from a quick journey. A slight grin appeared on her face as she shoved the powder keg into Dwin's hands.

    "You know what to do, Dwin…" she said as she leaned onto Arandor for support.

    Within minutes they had snuck up to the walled area of the Eastlanders stronghold. Krig, Ael, and Dwin quickly discussed a plan. Krig would be the bait…the diversion. With the Eastlanders watching Krig, Dwin would plan the keg next to the gate, and run like mad. As soon as he was clear, and that was the important, Ael would fire one of his few flaming arrows at the keg and ignite it.

    The plan, unlike many others that day, went off without a hitch. "Dont run through the fire with the keg!" someone yelled just as Dwin followed Krig into the fray. It was valuable advice. There were flames everywhere.

    Although the keg did not blow a hole in the gate as they hoped it would, it clearly weakened it for the next round of assaults. Sometimes it only takes a pebble to start a landslide…

  • G

    General Lyte and a small group of bright Legion hopefuls parted company with Krig thinking as he did, that they had injured many of the Bandit's best, and that they would soon force their way into the Eastlander's lair, silencing them forever.

    Corporal Riama, Captain Lilin, Major Theaon, Private White Lotus, Corporal Genzir, Sargeant Nyda and Recruit Pete were all there, as they trudged into the war zone.

    Catapults fired on both sides constantly, the loud blasts causing everyone headaches, with really no escape from their effects, and a constant need for awareness of where the impacts were landing were a neccessity for survival in this increasingly barren field.

    Smoke covered the field, and it was oft hard to tell friend from foe.

    The first casualties occured quickly, young adventurers our for a lark, falling before they know what hit them.

    Lyte healed one, only to have him blown to pieces in the next volley…but, it was war, and to be expected.

    There seemed little that could be accomplished. The catapult fire forced all away from the eastlander's gates. Surely they, in the narrow confines of the fortress, were taking many times the damage if they poked so much as their nose out of their fortress, the fortress walls reflecting each blast back upon any eastlander stupid enough to venture out.

    Or so the General thought.

    A group of archers had taken a hill not far from the fortress, and now screams of pain could be heard from it's exposed slope. Riama and Lyte rushed to the scene, to find the archers there blown to bits, with Oh'tara and Cike dead, and Cotton, badly hurt, trying to pick Oh'tara's mangled, charred body off the ground.

    An odious archer had Cotton in her sights, and was sticking her with arrows, and it took some healing and shooting back from Riama and Lyte and Cotton to stop the wicked thing.

    Riama ventured hidden to retrieve Lilin's beloved ranger when, a volley of arrows dropped the brave little hin. Lyte ran to try to save her, but too late. Instead it was a corpse the young General had to bring back to the healers.

    General Lyte began to percieve that this was not a battle that many would survive, and indeed, soon, this early encounter would seem a picnic in the sun, compared to some hours later, when the Peltarch defenders camp would be overrun, and this days battle would turn from a fight into a slaughter pen of unimaginable proportions.

    For these bandits were a new and mighty breed, and this Legion group and the Peltarch defenders were sorely overmatched, as the superhuman seeming bandits laid their mightiest low with single, well placed strikes.

    Brave soldiers from Peltarch lay on the ground. Zyphlin lay burnt and mangled, a leg blown off. Cheerful Pete was attacked and slain in a few moments, by some awful foe, dead before Lyte could reach him. It was altogether horrible, truly, a battle beyond reckoning.

    Lyte found herself stunned and burnt, cut and paralyzed, and on the ground gurgling for aid five times in the space of a few hours, seeming to use up whatever lucky favor she might have with her Goddess, in tremendously short order. Hedia, Raryldor and others healed her once, twice, thrice, and endlessly, until she began to wonder if she had any more blood left within her, to pour into the ground at the attacks of these seemingly impervious bandits.

    Soon the hospital was full of dead, and Nyda could not keep up with the need for diamonds, and trips to town for more were all too common.

    The Peltarch catapults, built with pine boards cut by the Legion from bugbear infested forrests seemed not to injure the Eastlanders at all, perhaps due to the terrible aim of those firing the weapons, and it was a bloody, gruesome day for this first company of Legion volunteers...the worst such action that their young General, had in fact, ever seen.

    Eventually General Grag and reinforcements arrived to replace the worn out, bloody defenders of the much overrun camp, and Lyte was seen limping off with Pete, in the direction of Jiyyd, discouraged and feeling thougherly beaten.


  • _He had headed north to see if there could perhaps be some copper veins in with the kobolds, he had worked out every other vein he could possibly find, and was planning on more. Three days and nights now he had worked straight, his cloak and armor caked in dried blood mixed with rockdust and sawdust, and he sat for just a moment in the commons…

    He recognized the missives going out from his time in the Scouts. They were preparing to move, so he strapped his armor in place and took a place amongst the Defenders heading south. Just north of the Eastlanders caverns they were held down by archers on the ridges, and traps on the open ground, and he recklessly charged to buy the others time to take the archers out...

    But no one else followed, and he found himself alone, holding Rass' hill from the officers, the soldiers, the clerics, the archers, calling on his god time and time again, only hoping this would buy time because he could no longer go back to the others, and finally they came, setting off the traps, moving into the open, and he rushed back down to help them...

    He heard the whisper but was to slow to react, and the air thickened around him, holding him in place. The Eastlander, her spell of invisibility broken, started slashing at him, poking at his side and back with a rapier, scoring the occasional hit, he felt when one of her hits finally pierced through his armor and enchantments, piercing deep into a lung, until he was still held and slowly drowning in his own blood. Out of nowhere, two heroes sliced their way from the ranks of the Defenders and carved a path through the Eastlanders to his side, Arandor and Anakore.... When the hold spell failed... they Eastlanders would pay.

    The rest was a blur, siege machines launching fireballs into their midst, mages appearing and disappearing, darkness spells covering his sight, at some point he found himself huddled near a tree, trying to breath, the edges of his vision black, some mage hitting him with spells, but he could not see from where, and he was to tired to chase him. And then it was over, and the Defenders were calling for supplies, those damn supplies he had been gathering for the past week, working night and day...

    Somehow he cut a path south to the Legion, and worked with them to get the wagons back north... somehow...

    Thus is war._


  • War and Humiliation

    _On his way from Jiyyd where he stayed at the Crafter's Hall, Krig headed north toward Peltarch to try joining up with his Far Scout Unit. The Crossroad in the Nars was quiet. All was quiet. Until he reached the bridge in the Nars. Krig easily dispatched an Eastlander footsoldier and two hounds. When he went to cross the bridge, all hell broke loose.

    From the ridge above, archers rained ice arrows down on him and a mage pummeled him with spell after spell. Krig's armor took most of the arrows without too much trouble, but the magic was starting to wear on him. If that wasn't enough, three great cats came out of hiding to surround him and rake at him with massive clawed paws. Again, Krig's armor took the brunt of the pawing, but still the magic proved too much. Krig retreated to the south.

    The cats must have been trained to guard the bridge since they did not take up the chase. If they had, they would have followed Krig right into the Legion. For a short time Krig stayed with this group. Almost imediately, they ran into a mage. Krig charged, but paid the price, for the mage cast a spell on himself that made Krig take damage every time he hit him. Another spell sat Krig on his ass while the mage casted fireballs at the group causing total chaos. If not for some timely healing by a few Legion members, Krig would have met Tempus.

    After chasing the mage off, the group decided to head north. They met heavy resistance and after a tough battle had to retreat south. The Eastlanders had brought out all they had, and they were handing out devestating blows. But their numbers were diminishing. Given time, Krig knew they would run out…...._